


The First Day

by AllegoriesInMediasRes



Series: Mary I of England: Truth, the daughter of time [6]
Category: 16th Century CE RPF, Historical RPF, The Tudors (TV)
Genre: Angst, Canon Compliant, Gen, Historically Accurate, No Romance, Oneshot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-18
Updated: 2017-04-18
Packaged: 2018-10-20 10:14:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,986
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10660446
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AllegoriesInMediasRes/pseuds/AllegoriesInMediasRes
Summary: December 1533. Mary's first day as a bastard.





	The First Day

**Author's Note:**

> This work is part of my Mary I series, but can also stand on its own.

**_15 December 1533_ **

The baby lay under a grand golden canopy, swaddled in robes of green and white, one pudgy arm occasionally escaping from the bundle and flailing around. Around her, the residents of Hatfield moved about in a great flurry of activity, a miniature solar system with her at the center.

Only one figure remained frozen, a motionless speck of dust in a whirling cosmos. Mary was the only person who did not kowtow to the little bastard wallowing in luxury she had no true right to. She wondered if any of the sycophants at Hatfield had even noticed that the _true_ princess had entered the room. Perhaps they had, but pretended not to have noticed her because they would rather curry favor with the latest by-blow her father was currently trying to shore up the succession with. In any case, _Princess_ Mary was certainly not going to be a willing performer in this masquerade.

She could hear disapproving murmurs from the few who had noticed her marked rudeness, but she did not care. She knew full well that her appointment to the household at Hatfield was a punishment, to break her defiance and her loyalty to the truth, but she would not bend.

Thomas Howard, Duke of Norfolk, Anne’s odious uncle and her unpleasant escort from Ludlow, had noticed her effrontery by now. “Would you not like to pay your respects to the Princess of England?” he asked her, a malicious sneer evident in his voice.

Mary felt the hairs on her arms prickle and her gorge rise in her throat at the sound of _her_ rightful title being applied to Anne’s bastard. “I know of no Princess of England except myself,” Mary said fiercely. “But since the King has condescended to acknowledge the Marquess of Pembroke’s daughter as his own, I will acknowledge her as my sister, just as I am bound to acknowledge the Duke of Richmond, Lady Tailboys’ child, as my brother.”

She had to fight down a smile as outrage settled upon the faces of everyone in the room, as in a single breath she denied Anne and Elizabeth’s usurped royal titles and placed them on the same level as her father’s first mistress and bastard. She had no doubt that tales of her defiance would be carried back to Anne before the day was out, but rather than scare her, the news thrilled her. She _wanted_ Anne to know that she saw her for what she was, that she would not be beat.

“Do you have a message for the King?” Norfolk asked, hoping to give her one more chance.

“None at all, except that his daughter, the Princess of Wales, asks him for his blessing.”

“Madam, I dare not bring him such a message.”

“Then go away, and leave me alone!” Unable to be in the same room as Anne’s kin any longer-- her little bastard, her cruel uncle, and her various cousins and other relations-- Mary fled the antechamber, pounding up the steps until she reached the cramped, dismal chamber that had been allotted to her, slamming the door and throwing herself upon the bed.

It was a tantrum fit for an uncivilized peasant girl, and had Mary’s mother been present, she likely would have thrashed her daughter with her own hands, but the girl did not care. It had been a long, terrible morning, and she needed to be alone for a while and lick her wounds. Even if her only refuge was this prison cell, with its bare plaster walls, poor lighting, and cramped furniture.

She had known that this day was coming for months, ever since her father’s bigamous marriage to Anne in May and Elizabeth’s birth in September. If she really looked back, she would see that she had known this day was coming for years, perhaps ever since the Blackfriars trial in 1529, or even before that, when he heaped titles upon her illegitimate half-brother Fitzroy at the age of six and tried to advance him as his heir. She had known a day would come when her title as princess was threatened, but she never would have expected her father to take it a step further, and force her to act as a servant.

No, her father could not have ordered this. It had to be Anne’s doing, that wicked harlot. Not content with usurping the true Queen and Princess’s titles, not content with leading her father by the nose into bigamy and heresy, the witch wanted Mary to feel every sting of bastardy and must have coerced her father into giving such an order.

Mary cursed Anne Boleyn, cursed her to the deepest pits of hell. Thanks to this woman, her mother had been banished from court to the More, there to languish in the cold marshes of England, while Mary rotted at Hatfield, where she would be prevailed upon to scrub floors and kiss the feet of the false princess at Hatfield.

Her father had his own family now, and it was as if Mary and her mother had never been his family at all.

* * *

A sharp knock at the door halted her sobs. “You and the other new ladies-in-waiting are commanded to wait downstairs to be instructed in your new duties. Lateness is frowned upon in the Princess Elizabeth’s household.”

The footsteps rapped smartly away, yet Mary remained stock still where she was. The _Princess Elizabeth’s household._ The _other ladies-in-waiting,_ one of whom included her. She no longer had her own household; instead, she was merely another servant in the train of the new princess. It was such a stark change for one who had been heir to the throne that her head spun for a moment, and she had to clutch the bedpost.

If this was how it felt to be addressed as a bastard, right now, in the privacy of her own chamber and with a thick wooden barrier shielding her, she did not want to imagine how it would feel downstairs, with dozens of pairs of eyes gawking at her.

Mary got up from her bed and made her way to the tiny mirror. She combed her hair, rearranged her hood, and scrubbed the blotchiness as best she could from her eyes. The memory of her fit of hysteria made her shrivel now; she was a Princess of England, no matter what title was forced upon her, and she ought to have more self-control than that.

Her father had once called her a girl who never cries. If she was to win back his love and affection, she would have to live up to that description.

Her appearance decent once more, Mary made her way down the spiraling staircase and to the main chamber, where the other ladies were gathering. Their broad smiles of anticipation and eagerness, contrasted with Mary’s sense of gloom and doom, threw her off. But then she considered that the other girls, who were the daughters of noblemen or gentlemen, viewed their stay at Hatfield as their chance to carve out a name for themselves at court and hopefully secure advantageous marriages. They viewed their appointments as enormous honors, whereas for Mary, it was an ignominy of galling proportions.

But under the new regime, Mary was now their equal in status, and so she lined up with the other ladies.

It was more humiliating that Mary could have imagined, having to stand there as though she was no more than just another lady-in-waiting, with her head bowed and her hands clasped. To stand there mutely, in formation with girls who by rights should have been serving _her_ , as they waited for the Lady Governess to grace them with her attention. To listen as she was instructed in how to perform menial tasks, tasks that once been performed on her behalf.

All her life, she had always been the center of attention, the only Princess of England. Whenever she entered a room, a guard would bang his staff and announce her title, letting all present know that their princess was there and that they should all hurry to bow and curtsey to their future queen. She had a train of at least eight ladies present with her whenever she went, and no one would have dared to treat her with anything less than the highest respect.

Now Elizabeth was the one who was feted as though she were a trueborn princess, while Mary was relegated to the outskirts. How cunningly cruel of Anne to rub her victory in Mary’s face by forcing her to live in a household where every day, her demotion in status would be made sharply clear in contrast to Elizabeth's precedence over her.

Mary had no friends here, not a single lady or servants she could trust. She had been commanded to leave everything behind when Norfolk arrived at Ludlow to tell her that her life as a princess was over, and that her new home would be that of the false princess. She missed her governess Lady Salisbury, who had been like a second mother to her. The Countess had been ordered to leave her charge behind, even when she offered to serve the Princess at her own cost. Instead Mary’s new taskmasters and jailers were two of Anne’s aunts, Lady Anne Shelton and Lady Margaret Bryan-- and to add insult to injury, Lady Bryan had been Mary’s governess when she was little, before being transferred over to Lady Salisbury’s care.

Anne was so determined to break her that she was willing to deprive Mary of every person in her life who cared for her.

The thought hardened Mary's features and straightened her spine. She would _not_ break, no matter what they threw at her and whatever indignities they forced upon her. She was the daughter of the King and Queen of England, the granddaughter of Isabella of Castile. Her mother, the Pope, the Emperor, and perhaps all of England were counting on her to remain strong.

Besides, it was not as though all was lost. For all that Anne was flaunting her victory in Mary’s face, she had won only the battle, not the war. She had not yet given the King the son she had promised him-- not that she ever would, as Mary fervently believed God would never grant that woman a son-- and until she did, her position was not secure.

Perhaps that was why Anne was so desperate to see Mary in an inferior position to her daughter. With no son, the King could easily decide that if he must have a daughter as his heir, he might as well restore the one who was older and more widely accepted. At least Mary’s father had not ordered that she work as a scullery maid or some other role that belonged to a lowborn drudge, instead of the comparatively more prestigious role as maid of honor.

That did not mean Mary could rest too easily, yet. Elizabeth might have been a girl, but a healthy child of either gender born in the first year of “marriage” boded well for a mother’s fertility, especially when said mother was a young and healthy woman like Anne. Anne would lose her place in the end, eventually, but the King was likely to give her at least once more chance, meaning Mary could be a servant for at least a year.

How on earth would she be able to survive that long?

She would find some way to do it. She could not directly disobey her father’s orders to act as a servant, as that was his prerogative, no matter how humiliating it was, but she would make sure to let everyone know that she was still a princess.

* * *

 Lady Bryan had finished instructing the new maids in their duties. “Lady Mary, you may begin by mending the Princess’s torn gowns,” Lady Bryan said imperiously, nodding at a basket containing a pile of tiny dresses. No doubt they were of the finest quality, made by the best haberdashers in England, even though the King refused to send a single shilling to either Katherine’s or Mary’s households.

Mary heard the command but did not react. She remained standing where she was, her head modestly bent and her hands clasped in front of her, trying to tamp down the smirk tugging at her lips. She could feel the other ladies gazing at her, wondering how she would react to the first order issued to her as a bastard.

Lady Bryan cleared her throat. “Lady Mary, did you not hear my command? Begin your work of repairing the Princess’s clothing at once.”

Mary remained where she was.

The Lady Governess strode towards her suddenly, the other ladies hurrying to get out of her way, until she stood directly in front of Mary, so close that the younger girl could feel her cool breath tickling the crown of her head. “Did you not hear my command, girl?”

“I heard you, Lady Bryan,” Mary said coyly. “I can only wonder why Lady Howard, or Lady Shelton, or Lady Weston did not heed your bidding.”

The other three Marys in the room flushed at being singled out, while Lady Bryan’s nostrils flared. “I ordered _you_ , Lady Mary. Commence the darning at once.”

“You could not have ordered me, Lady Bryan, for you addressed _Lady_ Mary. Had you wished to order me, you would have addressed _Princess_ Mary,” said Mary sweetly.

An audible gasp sounded from every occupant of the room.

Lady Bryan’s hand twitched as though she would like very much to slap Mary across the face, but she held her temper. “That’s treasonous talk, girl, the very reason you were sent here so that you might learn your place. While you are in the _Princess_ Elizabeth’s household, you will be _Lady_ Mary, the King’s bastard daughter and nothing more. For wasting time with your pretended superiority, you will be in charge of mending every stitch and every rent in each of the Princess’s gowns until you have apologized. No one will disrespect the King’s legitimate daughter as long as I am in charge of this household.”

With that, Lady Bryan began barking orders and assigning duties to each lady. Mary could sense the other ladies-in-waiting shrinking away from her, as though standing near her would contaminate them. Even though she knew she would pay dearly for this episode, she was feeling rather proud of herself. She had made a stand for herself, and had let everyone know that Princess Mary was not going down without a fight.

The satisfaction from that standoff carried her clear through the morning until lunch, when another quandary presented itself. Elizabeth was currently too young to dine in state in the Great Hall and would instead be fed by her wet nurses in the privacy of her nursery. Nevertheless, an enormous golden canopy of estate had been set up over a grand cushioned chair, meant to symbolize her supposed status of princess. By rights, that place should have been Mary’s, but as a servant, she was now obliged to take a place at the lower tables, along with the other maids.

There was no way Mary was going to take such an indignity lying down, and once again, she and Lady Bryan nearly came to blows. Every person in the Great Hall watched the argument with rapt attention, until Lady Bryan threw up her hands. “Why you must make matters worse for yourself, I cannot understand, but you will not insult the Princess Elizabeth by eating in her place. And if you attempt to sit under the canopy of estate,” she said suddenly, as though the horrible idea had just struck her, “I will not hesitate to order the guards to bodily drag you down from there.”

Mary highly doubted anyone would actually lay a finger on the rightful princess of England, but she judged it best not to test Lady Bryan’s wrath further. She instead retreated from the Great Hall and returned to her chamber, there to wait out the lunch hour and also seek a reprieve from the gazes boring into her.

The unfairness of it made her want to gnash her teeth and throw things, but she breathed deeply and evenly, attempting to quell her temper.

A hesitant rap at the door broke her out of her meditations and a voice whispered, “I’ve snucked summat up fer ya, princess.”

Mary cautiously cracked the door open, to see a timid maidservant standing outside, clutching something very tightly in the folds of her skirt, something Mary couldn't see.

“Forgive me forwardness, princess, but I saw you weren't at lunch and I thought you might be hungry…”

Almost on cue, Mary’s stomach gave an embarrassingly loud rumble. The maid reached into the bundle, withdrawing a crumpled loaf of bread she had snuck up from the Great Hall and tentatively offered it. She gave Mary a hesitant smile, but the Tudor girl only fixed her with a withering glare, heavy with suspicion.

The maidservant, to her credit, did not shrink underneath Mary’s gaze. Slowly and deliberately, she ripped off a strip of bread and swallowed it, her eyes never leaving Mary’s. “See, Highness? I swear to you, I’m not one of _her_ lackeys. Just felt it weren’t right for the _real_ princess to go hungry, and especially on your first day here.”

Mary wanted to shout at the girl to go away, to slam the door in her face. Did she really seem so pathetic that this lowly, illiterate maidservant actually dared to pity her? Mary wanted to curl up and die of humiliation-- she, the Princess of Wales, had been denied food for refusing to denigrate herself and now had to rely on the charity of a drudge if she didn’t want to starve. The injustice of it!

But in the end, her hunger won out, and she accepted the proffered loaf of bread. It wasn’t poisoned, she could be sure of that much, at least. She took a bite-- and immediately gagged. The grain was coarsely textured, almost stale. For Mary, who had grown up eating delicacies and the finest cuts from the finest tables of Europe, it was like swallowing sawdust.

The maidservant-- Louise was her name, she had mentioned to Mary-- grimaced in sympathy. “The best I could manage, madam. Couldn’t nick anything else much better.”

Mary nodded grimly. It galled her, having to resort to eating peasants’ fare, but it was likely the only sustenance she would have until dinner. She practically inhaled the meager crusts of bread, stuffing them into her mouth with her bare hands and not caring that crumbs dribbled down her front. To her credit, Louise did not make any comment about Mary’s deplorable manners and instead kept passing her loaves of bread from her rough, callused hands-- would Mary’s hands look like those, after several months of being a servant?

Soon the bread was finished. Mary thanked Louise as warmly she could manage and watched the serving girl scurry back down the stairs before her absence was noted.

An idea struck Mary suddenly, and she called the girl back. She beckoned for Louise to come closer, so that she could whisper. “If I were to give you a message, and ask that you convey it to the Imperial Ambassador, would you be able to do that?”

Louise nodded vigorously. “Yes, madam. You’d be surprised-- there’s many in the kitchens, in the parlors, in the stables, who still know that Queen Katherine, bless her soul, is the true queen, no matter what that harlot thinks she is-- though few dare to speak of it. I can name ten men who’d be willing to sneak a letter out to His Excellency.”

Mary nodded. Louise made to leave, then turned back and whispered, “Take heart, princess. We're all praying for you and your mother, and in the end, I'm sure God will reward his faithful.”

With that, she hurried back down the stairs for once and for all. Mary watched her go, her heart lighter than it had been in months. She still had many loyal followers who were willing to risk themselves for her, even if those currently in power were doing their best to make her life a living hell.

A bell signaled the end of lunch, and Mary sighed, knowing that the grace period was over.

* * *

Afternoon proved to be no less humiliating than morning, as those in charge of Elizabeth’s household lost no opportunity to force ignominious tasks upon her and to refer to her as “Lady Mary”. Compounding her misery was her renewed hunger, as the meager rations Louise had been able to filch was nowhere close to a full meal. It was an alien sensation for Mary, who had never gone hungry a day in her life, to have to continue to work on an empty stomach. By evening she was ready to faint, and the dinner bell sounded like the voice of an angel.

The canopy of estate had not been laid out, so Mary could at least dine at the lower tables with a clear conscience. Dinner was perhaps the most pleasant part of the day; while she had to sit amongst common-born maids and drudges, she was at least spared the constant aspersions upon her honor.

When dinner was over and the occupants of the Great Hall were slowly filing out to their rooms to retire for the night, Mary made her way to Lady Bryan. When the governess caught sight of her, she seemed to sag visibly as she saw Mary, as though she knew the younger girl would have some other impossible request. “Lady Bryan, I require the services of two maids to help me prepare for bed.”

By this point, Lady Bryan’s eyes were practically popping out of her head. She closed them for several seconds, trying not to lose her temper, and let out a long-drawn sigh. “You are here as a servant yourself, Lady Mary, and will be afforded no privileges. That is final.”

The lady governess turned to leave, but Mary stopped her in her tracks with her next words. “I am sure the Emperor would be most displeased to know that his cousin was left without the services of a single maid, as would the King.”

Despite everything, it was a warning Lady Bryan couldn’t ignore. Anne might currently be in power, but with no son in the cradle, her position was uncertain, and who could say that in the next year, Mary’s father wouldn’t come to his senses and restore his elder daughter to her rightful place? Who was to say that the Emperor wouldn’t exercise some of his might to ensure that his cousin and aunt were well-treated?

Lady Bryan, and everyone else for that matter, would be very wise not to treat Mary too harshly, if they did not want to pay the price for it later on.

With another heavy sigh, Lady Bryan called two maids from the departing throng, barking orders for them to help the Lady Mary prepare for bed and not, under any circumstances, to address her as “Princess”. The two girls quickly helped Mary change into a nightgown, comb her hair, and turn down the bedcovers, before sketching deep, if hesitant, curtsies and departing. It soothed Mary’s stinging pride to see their deference and that despite her deep disgrace, people still remembered that she was a princess.

Once they had gone, however, exhaustion set in with startling intensity, causing her to almost collapse then and there. As it was, she barely had the energy to crawl into bed before slipping into an uneasy sleep. Only one thought remained in her mind as she closed her eyes and concluded her first day as a bastard: _By God and all the angels, I will never let them break me._

**Author's Note:**

> Mary was indeed escorted by the Duke of Norfolk from Ludlow to Hatfield in December 1533, so that she might serve as a maid to newborn Elizabeth. The conversation between Norfolk and Mary in the beginning is taken from history, as is Mary’s refusal to eat beneath the canopy of estate representing Elizabeth’s status as princess.
> 
> If anyone has any ideas or requests for any moments from Mary's life, seeing her interact with other Tudor figures, AU Mary-centric ideas, or even an entirely Mary-unrelated idea, leave me a comment!


End file.
